


Mine is a Hand to Hold

by alexygalaxy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Song fic, in a loose definition of the term, just a heartfelt conversation, just some sibling bonding, not rly hurt comfort, spoilers for ep like 51 and beyond kind of? its just a spoiler for what country theyre now in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 23:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexygalaxy/pseuds/alexygalaxy
Summary: A short conversation between Beau and Caleb about their feelings towards the Empire and each other and how fucked everything really is, inspired by the song "Years of War" by Porter Robinson (full lyrics included in end note), which I've been listening to on repeat for a full week now.





	Mine is a Hand to Hold

Rain splattered against the roof of Caleb’s hut, a muffled sort of plonk-ing that was passably natural, but the magical nature of the barrier kept the sound from being entirely so. Beneath that, the wind howled slightly, the hut being the only object of notable height among the plains for gusts to whip up around. Occasionally, thunder rumbled somewhere far off. Beau had yet to see any lightning, though.

 

Inside the hut, a chorus of various states of snore were released as the Mighty Nein slept around her. Nott was surprisingly the soundest of the sleepers, followed by Caduceus. Neither of them snored, but Cad tended to let out heavy sighs or hums every few minutes. Jester wheezed a little, as did Nugget. Fjord and Yasha, unfortunately, were chronic snorers, and after nearly an hour of listening, Beau was starting to not find it endearing even from the paler of the two.

 

Then there was Caleb, who was panting heavily, eyes wide open and hands smacking at the ground as he tried to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings. It was not an unfamiliar sound or sight to Beau, who was already crawling towards him across the tangled bodies of her friends. Within a few seconds, the frantic breaths had stopped but the terror had not yet drained from Caleb’s eyes, a fact which Beau noted as she managed to clamber next to Caleb’s now-seated form.

 

“Hey, hey,” she murmured, loud enough to get Caleb’s attention but low enough that it probably wouldn’t wake the rest of the group. “You’re good. Want me to ground you?”

 

He gave a few jerky nods, not quite yet at the point of actual words, angling his body to face Beau’s, and turned his forearms up in front of him. She responded by placing her own on top of his, wrists aligned and palms down against his scarred skin. She pushed down gently on his arms, not grabbing them, but simply providing pressure which Caleb returned. This was a system she and Caleb had worked out over many late watches and nightmare wakeups. They stayed like that, arms pressing into each other as Caleb’s breath grew less shuddery and his eyes came back into focus inside the hut.

 

“Thank … you,” Caleb said between breaths, lightening up the  pressure on Beau’s arms and signaling to her that it was alright to pull away.

 

“Yeah, of course man,” she responded, shifting herself to a more comfortable sitting position next to Caleb’s bedroll.

 

“It has … been a while…  since I had ... one of those ... dreams.”

 

“Guess it has.”

 

Silence, or as close to silence as being surrounded by snoring and rain can get, fell between the two of them as Caleb curled forwards, holding his head with his hands. He waited there a moment before straightening up, heart rate back to normal.

 

“You don’t have to stay with me. You can go back to your watch,” he said to Beau, who was still sitting directly next to him.

 

“The hut is like twenty feet wide. I can still see everything from here. If there’s anything other than rain and swamp grass to see.”

 

Another silence fell, though this one was palpably tenser as Caleb was no longer lost in his own thoughts. He glanced about, making sure he hadn’t disturbed anyone else’s sleep, then turned his gaze forward and slightly away from Beau. He looked out over the fields, swaying of the grass just barely visible in the darkness. He sat like that for a good few minutes before he felt Beau’s touch once again at his forearm.

 

“Quit rubbing at ‘em.”

 

Caleb hadn’t even realized he’d been running his hands over his scars until Beau pointed it out. He let his left hand drop to his side while he gripped Beau’s lower arm with his right one, mirroring the grasp she had on him to keep him from picking at his skin.

 

“It’s been getting better, I think.”

 

“Hm? Oh, yeah.”

 

“Since I took the wraps off, I mean. Seems counterintuitive. Perhaps looking at them helps me remember how much time has gone by. That it’s in the past.”

 

“Makes sense.”

 

Caleb, until that point, had been still staring off in the anti-Beau direction, but he then turned towards her. He met her eyes for a second. Long enough to let her know his emotions were genuine, but short enough that neither of them got uncomfortable.

 

“Thank you again, Beauregard,” he said, voice notably weary.

 

“Yeah, no problem Caleb. Anytime. Happy to help.”

 

They were in danger of falling into a third silence, one that would be heavy enough that neither of them would break it until it was time to end watch. Instead, Beau leaned towards Caleb, not loosening her soft hold on his arm, and asked him a question.

 

“Do you hate him?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Him.” Beau tapped her thumb against Caleb’s scarred arm to clarify.

 

“Ikithon? I certainly don’t like him.”

 

“Yeah, no shit. But do you hate him?”

 

Caleb chewed absently on his lip as he tried to form his answer.

 

“You’re allowed to,” Beau said, leaning slightly to try and catch Caleb’s gaze. “Jester said it best. The Empire is really fucked up. _That man_ is really fucked up. What he did to you is really fucked up. And you’re allowed to hate him for it.”

 

Caleb nodded, still avoiding Beau’s eyes.

 

“I know,” he started. “I know it was fucked up.”

 

“But you don’t hate him?”

 

“I don’t know.” He turned to Beau now, looking back at her with his eyebrows furrowed and free hand rubbing at his stubble like he usually did in times of deep confusion. “I truly do not know.”

 

Beau scoffed slightly. “It’s a yes or no question.”

 

Caleb started at this admonishment. “It’s hard to answer” he said, an edge slowly creeping into his voice. “Do you hate your father?”

 

“That’s not - how did you - I’ve never - “ Beau stammered, pulling back from Caleb. She was stopped, however, by Caleb’s grip tightening on her arm, keeping the two of them firmly clasped together.

 

“I don’t forget things, Beauregard.”

 

“I still don’t think that he’s relev -- Caleb, do you think of Trent as your dad?” Beau asked, indignation creeping into her tone as she tried to turn the conversation back to Caleb.

 

“No. Answer my question.”

 

Beau shifted uncomfortably, shoulders pulling up towards her ears like a frightened turtle. Caleb still was not letting go of her arm and she figured she was going to have to give an answer eventually. She looked at the ground while she conceded, “I … don’t know.”

 

It was Caleb’s turn to scoff now. He was not immune to pettiness, and he hated to admit it, but it felt good to hit Beau’s raw nerves in an argument for once. It stopped feeling good when Beau had no hot-tongued quip to fire back at him. Just a silent, averted gaze.  

 

Caleb realized he was still squeezing Beau’s arm with unnecessary force, and he softened his grip before saying, “You’re allowed to.”

 

That earned him a low chuckle from Beau.

 

“I am serious. You are. It is hard to feel hate towards the ones we spent our whole lives trying to make proud of us. Trust me, I know. But you are allowed to feel it, if you ever think you can.”

 

Beau pressed her lips together for a moment, eyes closing then re-opening in the same line Caleb’s. “I hate _Trent_. Even if you don’t, or can’t, I do. I hate him for you. And for Astrid and Eodwulf, and everyone else he manipulated. He deserves it, and I hate his disgusting fucking guts.”

 

Caleb tensed at the mention of Ikithon’s other prodigy students, but it passed momentarily, replaced by a smile filled with enough sorrow that it most definitely should have been a frown.

 

“Well, then, I hate your father, until you can. And probably still after that. I know you don’t like to talk about him much, but he sounds like pretty shitty dude himself.”

 

“Solid plan.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Beau took the opportunity to move closer to Caleb, turning so that the two were sitting with shoulders pressed together, their bound arms now resting perpendicularly across both their laps. A few seconds passed before Beau’s voice once again broke through the sounds of night and sleep.

 

“What about the Empire, then? Do you hate that?”

 

“It is broken, and corrupt, and harmful to a lot of people,” Caleb answered. “But it is also my home.”

 

“Nah. Your home is Bloomen, Blummen, Blussen … “ Beau waved her free hand through the air as she spoke, attempting to dust off her memory of the name of Caleb’s hometown. “Zemnian place with a B.”

 

“Blumenthal.”

 

“That’s it. That’s your home, not the Empire,” Beau stated. “The Empire’s a place, but it’s not really a place, it’s more like …  a bunch of shitty people doing stuff to not shitty people. You know what I mean?”

 

“Barely, but your point has been made. The Empire has become a tool, abused for the power of a greedy few. That is what we are meant to hate. What I do hate.”

 

“That’s … a lot more eloquent than what I said, but yeah. I hate it too.”

 

“That’s why you joined your sneaky monk spy group, right?”

 

“Yeah. It is.” Caleb thought he detected pride in Beau’s voice, and it was quite a rare occurrence for the emotion to be genuine, as it seemed to be now.

 

“What do you hope to accomplish with them?”

 

“To expose corruption, search for truth, unbreak the system if we can,” Beau listed.

 

“That is what the group wants to do. What do _you_ want, Beau?”

 

She thought for a minute before responding, forming each word with explicit care. “To help make it all crumble.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Come on Caleb,” Beau groaned, shoving his shoulder with her own. “You know I don’t do explaining things. Words are hard when you’re not a nerd.”

 

He rolled his eyes at her, choosing not to comment on her teasing. “It’s a good goal. You’ll help a lot of people by causing a lot of chaos.”

 

“Seems to be our style.” Beau gestured towards their friends sleeping around them.

 

“Ja. That it does.”

 

“What about you, Caleb? What’s your goal with Ikithon? Do you, like, want him dead?”

 

Caleb paused a moment before answering. “I think that would be good.”

 

“Do you wanna kill him yourself?”

 

“I don’t think I could.” As he spoke, Caleb shifted ever so slightly, pulling away from Beau’s presence next to him.

 

“You won’t have to do it alone.”

 

“I don’t want to drag the Nein further into this mess than I already have.”

 

“Two things,” Beau started, pushing herself sideways to keep Caleb from escaping body contact. “One, this group would go to hell and back for you, Caleb. We’re your friends. We care about you. Hell, we spent months on a fuckin’ boat for Fjord’s weird stone eating fetish and me and maybe Jester are the only ones who really like him. We can certainly spare some time to help you kill a _wizard terrorist_ who’s a major player in a continental war. Don’t you dare fight me on this.”

 

“Alright, I won’t,” Caleb said, indignation masking the skittishness that was starting to creep into his voice at the thought of the Mighty Nein going on any kind of quest _for him_.

 

“And two,” Beau continued, her voice dropping to a lower and more intense register. “I wasn’t talking about the Nein when I said that. I was talking about me.”

 

Caleb turned his head at this, eyebrows falling into confusion-furrow once again.

 

“No matter what happens with this group; if we disband, or if Yasha turns out to be a Xhorhasian secret agent and we have to run for our lives, or if Fjord releases U’kotoa and it eats half the damn party, I’m not leaving you.”

 

“Beau, don’t --”  


“I’m serious, Caleb. You’re like family to me. God, fuck, that’s real sappy and cliche and I hate that I said it but it’s fuckin’ true. I’m gonna be by your side when this guy goes down.”

 

Caleb’s free hand drew up to tug on his cheeks and cover his mouth. Beau squeezed his other arm, still resting against her own.

 

“We know the Empire,” she continued, “we grew up in it, we got fucked up by it, and we’re gonna tear it apart from the inside. Together. If you’re ok with that.”

 

Caleb took a long breath, exhaling slowly through his hand before letting it drop and answering.

 

“I’m no valiant fighter like you. I don’t know if I can tear anything down in the way you’re thinking. But, yes, I’m ok with that. You are like family to me too. We can plan on together.” He squeezed her arm back, softly, for a long time.

 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, slowly fading to nothingness as Caleb and Beau sat, silent once more, hands still clasped around the other’s forearm, staring out through the invisible walls of the hut at the rain still streaking to the ground. The swamp grass swayed in the wind, bending haphazardly down as the gusts passed over it. The Mighty Nein continued to snore, and wheeze, and huff peacefully in their sleep until the light began to shift and dawn broke above them. They watched the new day begin like that, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Yee this turned out quite a bit differently than I expected but I think I'm okay with that. I wasn't really intending to leave all of their thought processes out and only write dialogue (as opposed to the last thing I wrote which was ONLY thoughts) but it felt so much like something that would actually happen in show it felt natural to write it like we'd watch it. No clue as to what's going on in their minds unless it also comes out their mouth.
> 
> Anyways, here's the lyrics. Tell me they don't scream Empire Siblings:
> 
> Take one last look at what you're leaving behind  
> 'Cause there's no coming back once we go  
> We are the children of an innocent crime  
> And it's time to take down the throne  
> Although our hands may shake  
> We'll set the city ablaze for the treachery  
> We'll spill their blood and set our fathers free
> 
> Oh, two hundred years of war  
> Fight till we are no more  
> A curse on the streets of gold  
> Just know, mine is a hand to hold  
> Take back what the kingdom stole  
> A curse on the streets of gold
> 
> Here's a link to listen as well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34thwBLMe4g


End file.
